The Mirror Series: Forbidden Desire
by RZZMG
Summary: Booking an appointment with the famous sex practitioner, Draco Malfoy, was not the sanest idea Hermione Granger ever had, but maybe now she'll finally get the answers she's waited 10 years for. Mystery/Romance/Hot shagging-DMxHG. FIC CHALLENGE! COMPLETE!
1. Chapter 1

**AUTHOR'S NOTES: **

**UNSEENLIBRARIAN's FIC CHALLENGE criteria to me were... **

_- Story must include Draco Malfoy x Hermione Granger_

_- Story must include The Mirror of Erised _

**The story below is the second story in the series I've written (the first was "The Mirror Series: That Which You Most Desire"). You don't have to read any of the other "The Mirror Series" fanfics to know what's going on here. "The Mirror Series" is a series of self-contained fanfics that are not interconnected in any way, except by the criteria listed above. This is an experimental series that is open-ended. **

**The story below also includes a special request that five other readers (LUCY-IN-THE-SKY, Wraithskid, Jubibeebee, SnarkyMum, hikari1hikaru, and CAREYLAN) have requested from me. Their criteria for this piece were:**

_- Story must contain Veela!Draco x Hermione_

_- Story must contain the use of sex magic_

**Please leave a review, if you would be so kind! I would love to hear your thoughts!**

* * *

**REVISION 2.0 (as of May 1, 2011)**

**Characters (in alphabetical order, by last name): **Hermione Granger, Draco Malfoy

**Details: **Romance-Drama. Post-Hogwarts, EWE (Epilogue? What Epilogue?) format. Novel compliant, but fills in the story in the middle of sixth year between the times when we have no idea what Hermione Granger or Draco Malfoy are _actually _doing (as JKR didn't chart out their day-by-day comings & goings for us in the novels). Characters act a little OCC (out of character).

**Timeline: **2007 - ? (ending date is a spoiler, so won't give it away)

**Summary: **Hermione Granger books an appointment with the famous sex practitioner, Draco Malfoy, to answer the question as to why her love life has been such a mess since the day he kissed her (back at the end of their sixth year, ten years previously). What does his family's past have to do with why both of them are so miserable in their hearts?

**Rating: **NC-17 (explicit sexual situations, profanity, alcohol consumption, pregnancy).

**URL to see images for this fanfic (remove all spaces): **_http:/ / s905 . photobucket . com / albums / ac260 / RZZMG / The%20Mirror%20Series/_

* * *

_**THE MIRROR SERIES: FORBIDDEN DESIRE**_

**By RZZMG**

* * *

_**CHAPTER ONE**_

What in Godric's Great Mystery was she doing sitting here? She should get up and leave right now. This whole idea was completely _insane_.

Sighing with dread, Hermione ran a shaky hand through her tumbled, dark chestnut curls, bucking up the nerve to pull a runner while there was still time. _He_ hadn't come into the room yet to greet her; their appointment wasn't for another eight minutes, so scramming now would probably be the sanest, wisest thing to do.

Yet, his policy was clear: cancelling or no-shows weren't allowed a second booking, period.

Perhaps that was for the best, though, she rationalized. Being this obsessed with someone of Draco Malfoy's reputation was a bad preoccupation, after all... And yet, here she was in his flat, contemplating the ridiculously forbidden: actually paying to have sex with him.

Oh, gods above, what had she been thinking when she sent that first owl to him two weeks ago?

If she went through with today, this wouldn't just be a primal, lust-filled one-off for her, as it would be for him. The riotous feelings she'd been secretly carrying around for him for the last decade were too convoluted to be so simplified and casual. But she was sure they were one-sided, as Malfoy was a professional practitioner of _Kāmaḥ_ – a man magically gifted with the ability to enhance sexual pleasure by manipulating auras. The society pages had stated that he was the first child in the wizarding world to fully manifest these abilities in over one hundred and fifty years – which made him a special and very sought after commodity by women everywhere. He'd taken probably hundreds to his bed since his secret had come out eight years ago, so Hermione knew that she would be no more than just another clandestine, paying client for the next few hours; just another woman who would take what pleasure she could get from this fake, role-played fantasy that he could provide. And when she left, there would be a line of beauties behind her, an endless sea of women, and she would be forgotten in that mix, just another notch on his bedpost. End of story.

Basically, she was setting herself up for a possible major fall from grace here; a crash and burn of epic proportions. So why go through that kind of hurt? Scheduling this rendezvous had clearly _not_ been a well-considered decision on her part to begin with, and therefore, she should just leave.

Talking herself into a course of action, Hermione stood on trembling legs, quickly gathered her light, spring-time jacket and purse and headed for the door… where she stopped, hand on the polished, antique brass knob, forehead pressed to the cool wood.

_This is your only chance._

Malfoy's rules were specific: one time per woman. That's all he ever allowed. No getting personal. If she wanted even a slice of him, in whatever capacity she could get, it was now or never. And she wanted to know the answers to those questions that had burned her mind for almost a decade now. She _really_ did.

True, their past had been terribly tainted. She'd despised his bullying, cowardly self from the first moment they'd met in her first year back at Hogwarts. Malfoy had been a despicable child with foul prejudices and an even nastier temper. He'd hurt her more times than could be counted; for her first three years at school, her pillow had been constantly stained by the tears he'd conjured with his cruel, taunting words. It wasn't until Viktor Krum had taken a liking to her that her self-esteem had blossomed and she'd realized that she was not just smart, but rather pretty, and that Malfoy was nothing but a spoiled, horrid git who was jealous. She'd effectively ignored him after that, not allowing him to have the power to hurt her anymore.

But then, the oddest thing had happened during their sixth year: she'd become surreptitiously obsessed with her bitterest rival. It had started out with the best of intentions, of course, but where it ended up had left her shaken and guilt-ridden in the end – not to mention continually tormented by the memories a full decade later.

After a very thoughtless Ron had broken her heart by throwing her affections away for the likes of Lavender Brown that November, Hermione had needed a project to take her mind off of her grief. Focusing on Malfoy, trying to determine if what Harry had guessed at – whether he'd really taken the Dark Mark or not – had filled the void when her studies had finally exceeded the curriculum. Starting that December, in between her well-juggled school and supplementary activities schedule, she began a concentrated observation of the Slytherin Prince, thinking that perhaps she could, at least, do something to ease Harry's growing paranoia. Being so thoroughly engaged with the task helped her to cope with Ron's obnoxious displays of affection with his new girlfriend, too.

To her chagrin, Malfoy had noticed her scrutiny from pretty much the very beginning, and so her covert operation wasn't as cloak-and-dagger as she'd hoped. She didn't let that deter her, however. From that point forward, for the rest of that school year, every time they passed in the corridors or out in the open quads or on the stairs, they'd lock gazes and she'd let him know in those silent looks that she was watching him for any suspicious activity. In class or during meal times, he'd sometimes turn his head in her direction, letting her know right back that he could feel her stare and wasn't in the least bit bothered by it. They'd even come face-to-face on the Owlery stairs once, completely isolated from everyone else at that moment, and all they'd done is gaze upon each other, their silent wills testing the other's resolve. Strangely, no actual words were exchanged between them for months, not even in their shared Labs. She heard his voice only when he was asked a direct question and required to answer. Other than that, he remained withdrawn and taciturn – very un-Malfoyish, in her opinion.

In truth, Draco's response to her obvious stalking was completely unexpected and foreign. He didn't avoid her, he didn't confrontationally smirk at her, nor did he bark at her to mind her business. Instead, he'd simply studied her right back, seemingly as curious about her as she was about him. Further, he never encouraged her snooping by overtly acting suspicious, but neither did he dissuade her attempts to unveil any of his alleged secret activities either. He was neither smug about this fact, nor worried by it, either. Plainly, he was undaunted by her in any fashion. His blasé attitude is what fueled her continual interest in him, drawing her in like a pixie to the flame. So it was no great surprise, really, what ended up happening.

She'd never forget the date: May 24, 1997. Hermione had followed Malfoy up to the seventh floor corridor that Saturday afternoon… and there, he'd became the first, true skeleton in her life's "experience closet" – one that she could _never, ever_ tell another living soul about. Their encounter that day was a secret that she determined she would take with her to her grave.

If she closed her eyes now, she could still phantom feel, see, hear and smell him with vivid clarity, as if something had fundamentally changed her that day, heightening all of her senses. The clearest memory had been his flavor, however; his breath had scented of fresh, summer berries and his taste had addicted her, made it so that for all the years following that incident, any other man's kiss had paled in comparison, repulsed her a little, even.

She'd followed him up to Barnabas the Barmy's tapestry, thinking she was finally going to catch him at something prohibited, but all he did was stand before the massive hanging, considering it in silent contemplation. With a spin on his heel, he turned about towards the opposite wall, where she knew the secret entrance to the Room of Requirement was located, but he froze before he'd gotten all the way about, noticing her for the first time. It had been a tense several seconds after that, as they'd warily stared at each other and she remembered thinking she should run from the intense, dark expression on his face, but her feet seemed unwilling to obey her mind's command.

He'd moved quicker than she'd expected, and in the blink of an eye, she'd been pushed against the far wall, trapped by his more powerful hands. Her voice had simply failed her at his touch, her brain having gone numb from the ferocity of his actions. Without her consent, he'd aligned their bodies perfectly, pressed into her, and dipped his head, capturing her lips with his own without hesitation. At that first tentative brush of his mouth, all reasonable thought had scattered from Hermione's brain as she'd felt herself captivated by his taste and scent and nearness. It had been almost too natural a reaction for her to open up for him, to move her mouth to return the attention, shy and unskilled though she had been. She'd felt _compelled_ by some nameless, illogical instinct to participate in his seduction… no, _to surrender_ _to it_, and she had without thought, without rationality, without sanity.

Their kisses had been wild, desperate – a scorching meetings of lips and tongues and… _oh, gods_, he'd burned her up, turned her mind inside out, and had caused her belly to flutter with riotous butterflies! His hands had plunged into her hair, holding her steady and still, as his rock-hard body had effectively pinned her, holding her up even as her knees had weakened. He'd moaned and gasped just as fervently as she, as they'd moved together in a tangle of anxious limbs. She'd recalled actually whimpering when the fire he'd stoked in her breast had pulsed its way into her mouth, and she'd shoved that feeling into him with single-minded ferocity. He'd growled like an animal in response, intensifying their mouth lock, his fingers tracing a path downward, possessively roaming over her clothed breasts, stopping just long enough to grab a hold of the round globes and push up.

_"Yes,"_ she'd whispered, as he'd begun trailing a path down her throat, nudging aside her collar to suckle at the tender flesh above her hidden pulse. _"Oh, yes…"_

He'd continued his dance over her body, hurrying over her hips and down, down, down to her bared thighs, just above the hem of her skirt. With light, deft strokes over the cream of her skin, he'd hypnotically lulled her into insensibility and found his way under her knickers and inside her with little effort, touching her most sacred, protected sex with a gentleness that was surprising. Trembling from head to toe, shocked into silent consent by the burgeoning feelings that had been coaxed into arousal over the last few months, and that were being enjoyed by her oh-so-willing body at that moment, Hermione had closed her eyes and given in to her basest desires and his expertise.

He'd stroked her small bundle of fleshy nerves at the top of her slit with the pad of his thumb in scintillating circles, running two fingers along her cleft, dragging liquid, silken heat behind. The assault on her senses had taken up simultaneous residence at that point - both below and above, as he'd thrust his tongue back into her mouth again and again, curling it about hers even as his fingertips carefully pierced her entrance, pulsing their way inside. He'd added a second finger soon, and when he'd rather forcefully thrust into her on the third pass, stretching his fingers apart while inside her canal, she'd felt her virginity give way, tearing apart on his hand's rhythmic pumping. She'd cried out, he'd captured her pain with his mouth and stilled his motions. With eyes wide open, they'd stared into each other's souls across tiny centimeters, neither backing away, despite what they'd just done.

It had been an unexpected hurt, a surprising consequence; Hermione hadn't even known a girl could lose her innocence without intercourse. Yet, strangely, uncharacteristically, she had felt no distress or regret over the accidental giving of such a precious thing and in such a manner, to such a man. Her body seemed primed for more, in fact. The drive consuming her, burning her up inside and out, had allowed no recourse, no hesitation, absolutely refused to let her end this until she'd found some pleasure, and she'd been helpless to its alien power over her senses.

Wrapping her arms about his neck, she'd thrown herself at him, heatedly pressing inexperienced, fumbling kisses to his lips. _"Don't stop,"_ she'd begged.

He'd groaned and given in, melting back into her mouth, slowly teasing her body into shivers with gentle, slow gliding of his fingers up and in, down and out. His thumb rubbed rings around her clit again and in moments, he'd brought her to the edge. With a last, tender brush against her tiny bead, she'd cried her pleasure into his mouth, her legs trembling so hard that she couldn't support her own weight. He'd captured that gasp with another moan of his own, passionately kissing her, even as his arm had tightened around her waist and drawn her close to hold her up. It had been her first time being touched in such a way and being brought to climax, and she had technically given him her virginity. The experience had seared her soul, indelibly marking and changing her, moving her away from childhood into maturity.

After, as their hearts had calmed, he'd withdrawn his pocket handkerchief and purposefully, carefully wiped between her thighs and over the hand that had been inside her, capturing as much of her innocent, crimson blood with the snowy white fabric as could be caught. When finished, he'd meticulously folded it up and put it back in his pocket, letting her know without words, but with sincere expression, that he was keeping this reminder of what she'd given him - not as a trophy, but as a precious gift. And then his arms had protectively wrapped around her, pulling their bodies into erotic contact again, making her feel safe and truly desired.

She couldn't explain her behavior that day, or why it had all felt_ so right _for them to have done what they did, nor why she'd even allowed things to unfold the way they had - there in the middle of an open corridor, in plain sight of whomever might cross their path. What Hermione _had_ known was that everything she'd previously felt and believed about Malfoy was changed in those few minutes. And more importantly, everything she'd known about herself, the fundamental belief in who and what she was, had suddenly become suspect, as she'd felt a hidden and previously unknown part of herself peek out and take control. She'd remembered feeling guilty and ashamed that she'd betrayed her feelings for Ron and her friendship with Harry for that stolen moment with the enemy (for by then she'd had no doubts that Draco had been working for Voldemort, despite having no proof other than her instincts), and her confusion had been eclipsed only by her fear over what would come next. Yet, when he'd finally pulled away long minutes later, she hadn't wanted him to let her go. She'd wished the rest of the world would just go away, so that they could continue with this illicit, new romance without interruption or censure.

But it was not meant to be. _They_ were not meant to be.

With a deep, careworn sigh and a stiffening of his shoulders, Draco had placed his forehead on hers, locked gazes with her once more, and issued his final warning – the only words he'd directly spoken to her that whole year - reminding her of who they were and that they'd stood on opposites side of a war:

"_Stop following me around, Granger. It's not safe. I don't want you getting hurt. Don't you understand? I… care. Bloody hell, just stay away from me from now on!"_

With panting breath and agonized features, he'd kissed her once more – a soft, tremulous goodbye – and then he'd let her go and hurried off, his long legs quickly pacing the hall. Rounding the corner at the end, he'd disappeared out of sight in seconds and had avoided her gaze from then on, pretending nothing had ever happened, refusing to speak a word in her presence, even when called upon in class. A week later, Dumbledore had died.

Hermione had spent the last decade trying to bury the memory of those fleeting minutes in that hallway. The guilt at having failed to divine Draco's words for what they truly meant was horrendous, but the longing to repeat the act – to go even _further_ with him - was even worse. It's what kept her from marrying Ron, who had loved her so completely and true, leaving him with a broken heart for his honest efforts, and it had kept her from forming serious relationships with other men over the years as well. At almost twenty-nine years old, Hermione had finally forced herself to take a good, long look in the mirror, and honestly, she hadn't liked what she'd seen. Yes, she had good friends and a loving family, but unlike those within her inner circle, she was still utterly alone in the vaults of her heart – and all because she couldn't let go of a destructive childhood crush with a man who was now known for his _well_-established bachelorhood.

Malfoy's innate magical powers over the _Kāmaḥ_ _must_ have somehow changed her that day in the seventh floor corridor. They must have addicted her to him, made her incapable of ever being freed from the chains of his talented hands and mouth - because that was the only rational explanation she could assume and accept for why she'd allowed what they'd done all those years ago... and for the mess that had been her love life ever since.

Even if that _was_ the case, though, how was confronting Draco today going to matter, except to confirm or deny her suspicions? It wouldn't change the past. And what would happen once she got her answers? What was she doing here again - _seriously_?

She started to turn the knob, having pretty much talked herself out of this mad scheme, when a familiar, smooth voice stopped her cold.

"I thought Gryffindors were supposed to have courage," the object of her inner torment breathed against her neck, causing an eruption of fluttering in her belly. Pressing in close behind her, not quite touching yet, the heat radiating off of Malfoy's body prickled her bare arms, even as his magical aura lightly, teasingly caressed hers. "Leaving so soon, Granger?"

* * *

_**TO BE CONTINUED…**_

* * *

**AUTHOR'S POST-NOTES:**

_**Kāmaḥ**_**= Sanskrit for "lust."**


	2. Chapter 2

_**CHAPTER TWO**_

Merlin, that voice! What had Malfoy done over the years to perfect it so? Perhaps it was a by-product of his powers? Whatever the cause, it was a sexual weapon all unto itself - and Hermione's former tormentor slash semi-lover was effortlessly wielding it now and with good effect against her. Her nipples tightened in automatic response, her heart rate accelerated into the stratosphere, and her mouth watered in anticipation, even as the edge of her lips twitched in true panic.

She'd been too preoccupied with her thoughts to notice his approach from behind, stalling too long in memories, and now it was too late to make a discreet escape!

Swallowing back her rapidly beating pulse, she took a deep breath, attempting to force her tone calm. "I wasn't sure about booking this… appointment… to begin with," she confessed, proud that her voice only shook a teensy bit.

A large, pale hand reached out and hovered over hers on the door knob. "Once you exit this suite, there's no coming back, ever," he softly reminded, pressing his nose close to her ear, letting his lips buzz her sensitive lobe. "One opportunity only for any woman who can afford me. Those are the rules. Squandering our only chance because of a simple case of nerves would be a shameful waste, don't you think?" He nuzzled her throat and inhaled, then sighed in lustful anticipation against her skin. "I've waited for what seems like eons for you to walk through my door, Hermione."

It was the first time he'd ever used her given name, and Hermione felt a thrill course through her veins at the intimate way he spoke each syllable in a soft whisper, like he'd practiced saying it until he'd perfected each vowel and consonant.

"Will you go?" he asked, placing his warm palm over her fingers, engulfing them. There was a moment of silence, as she trembled against the warm body that intimately glided against hers, pressing itself into her curves. Hermione bit her lip to keep herself from whimpering like a virginal school girl, undecided and afraid of her body's reactions. "No, you want to stay," he affirmed, answering his own query, gently pulling her non-resisting hand from the grip. "I think you're ready for me finally. I _know_ I'm ready for you."

His other arm slid around her waist, pulling her along with him as he stepped back and turned them towards the open door on the other side of the room. Through it, she could see her final destination: his bedroom.

Absently, she recalled that the Mirror of Erised would be in there. He'd acquired the large, ornamental vanity piece after the war, when Hogwarts sold off some of its more benign magical objects to raise funds to rebuild the school. Hermione knew from Harry what the item was, and had heard her co-worker, Jani, describe all about her one-shot visit to Draco's bed two months prior – including her view into the Mirror that he supposedly allowed every woman the opportunity to examine after the sex was over. It was a moment of clarity he offered his clients, Jani explained. Boy, had it been for her! Jani had taken one look into the Mirror and seen herself with her on-again/off-again boyfriend getting married. Such a vision - even after having an incredible few hours of sex with another man - had cinched it for her that she and Marcus Flint truly belonged together. Malfoy, it seemed, had helped her actualize this truth.

If she had a chance to look into the Mirror later this afternoon, Hermione wondered if it would confirm or deny her suspicions, and lay to rest once and for all where her heart truly lie.

She had no more time to contemplate the issue, as Draco led her like a puppet on a string into the tall ceilinged room with the large canopied bed in the center. As she'd always suspected his private space would reflect, the Slytherin green, silver and black color schema was dominant, from the bed's goose-down duvet to the large, open-backed chaise settee in front of the lit hearth. It was a masculine room, but far from spartan. Rich upholsteries, velvet fabrics, satiny sheets, plush pillows, luxurious carpet and the scent of burning incense – sandalwood, she thought – coalesced, leaving no doubt that this room was one made for pleasurable relaxation and recreation. A darkly stained, oak table against the wall nearest the door was set with red wine and two glasses, a tray laid out with sliced fruit and chocolate truffles, and two burning candles that created an atmosphere of elegant romance. Against the far wall, next to the bed, was a tall, matching armoire, its doors closed. And there, in the opposite corner, near the fireplace sat the Mirror of Erised, within full view of the room.

Two fingers under her chin turned her head and his mercurial gaze captured her. Instantly, her heart hammered under her ribs, madly skipping about. Noting her blush, her tender subjugator smiled. It was not a smarmy, sarcastic mockery of a smirk, but a warm, pleased smile. "Not just yet," he teased, pulling her hand towards the table with the food and wine. "The Mirror comes at the end. I want to enjoy our limited time without distraction."

Hermione's heart clenched in her chest as the reality of her situation returned: this was a one-off fling. After today, she most likely wouldn't see him ever again.

Suddenly, she felt like crying.

A tender fingertip touched down on her lips and she looked up into his face again. "Don't shut down on me. We'll go slow," he promised, misreading her trepidation and anxiety. "I'll make it good for us, Granger. You don't have to worry."

She nodded, trying to shunt aside her concerns. If she wanted to commit this day to her long-term memory so she could keep it for always, she needed to be in the moment and stop thinking about the future. She'd made this appointment with eyes wide open, after all. "Okay," she whispered, determined not to spoil their few hours together.

Malfoy led her to the table with the wine and opened it, pouring them each a half glass, and swirling it around to let it breathe before serving it to her. He picked up the tray of fruit and led them to the settee in front of the fire, setting the food down on a nearby end table.

Popping a green grape into his mouth, he leaned back on one end of the cushioned couch and took a sip of his drink. It was then that Hermione finally had the opportunity to take him all in.

Saying Malfoy made casual look sexy was as understated as saying Buckingham Palace was just a home. His untucked Dolce & Gabbana dress shirt was a white-on-white pinstripe. He had the cuffs rolled to mid-forearms, showing off the whited-out scar where once the Dark Mark had been displayed. Charcoal grey trousers were made of light wool, the belt around his waist was of black dragon leather to match the perfectly shined, Italian leather dress shoes. He'd ditched the sleeked back hair style that he'd sported for most of his Hogwarts career; long, platinum-white bangs were parted to the side and rakishly hung across his right eye to fall almost to his nose, while the back was cut in short layers. He was closely shaved, without a hint of stubble to his cheeks or chin, his hands perfectly manicured. The muscles of his broad shoulders, biceps and pecs stretched the material of his shirt, allowing for a perfect sculptured outline. Clearly, he exercised and kept himself trim.

Gods in heaven, he was still _so beautiful!_

Even wearing all her prettiest things, she felt like an ugly duckling in comparison. Thank Merlin she had a fashionista like Ginny as a best friend, for Hermione would never have known what to wear today or how to gussy up without her friend's expertise (and, more importantly, without Gin's unquestioning support in this crazy endeavor, she'd have chickened out). She nervously tugged at the strap of her crimson leopard print, Robert Cavalli keyhole halter and smoothed her hand over her black cotton-blend Muggle dress slacks to get the dampness from her palm. At least she was sitting down now; her feet were beginning to hurt from the five-inch Hannah patent-leather black, peep-toe stilettos her best girlfriend had forced on her (she was definitely going to have a blister or two later from them, she just knew it!). The outfit's matching accessories and make-up were flashy and risqué: matching painted finger and toenails, crimson lipstick, her eyes done up smoky gold and bronze, gold hoop earrings, and gold bangles on her wrists. As for her hair… the rat's nest had been disciplined by a few dollops of Sleekeazy's Hair Potion, smoothed flat and allowed to air dry, then pinned up on the sides, letting it fall down her back in a cascading waterfall effect. Ginny figured if there was to be shagging involved tonight, the easier the hair was to let free, the better. Personally, Hermione was just happy that it appeared tamed.

"You look very, _very_ lovely," Draco complimented, watching her with that same enigmatic gaze that he'd carried around with him all sixth year, his fingers lazily twirling the stem of his wine glass. "I hate to admit it, but Gryffindor red is a splendid match against your skin tone."

Hermione huffed in reticent amusement. "Ginny says the same thing, but green's always been my favorite color-" She stopped, realizing the double meaning only after the fact, and looked up at her host to make sure he didn't suspect her of guile. A small notch at the edges of his lips and a lowering of his eyelids – gods above, he had such long, dark gold lashes! – indicated that he'd understood well enough.

"I like that," he admitted, his smile widening, revealing two rows of perfectly straight, white teeth. Her parents would have been awestruck by the pearlized glimmer.

She blinked at him, confused. "What?"

He shifted, drawing her attention to his perfectly tailored pants once more. "That life hasn't ruined your ability to speak the truth – be it with your eyes, your movements or your words," he explained. She hazarded a glance up into his face and locked onto his full bottom lip as he continued speaking, enthralled by the color and smooth texture of his mouth. "You still transparently wear your feelings on your sleeve, Granger. That kind of innocence is a rare anomaly in the world today."

Her cheeks flamed at the sincerity of his tone - and with the realization that she'd been watching his mouth as he'd talked, absently wondering what it would feel like to kiss him again. "Oh." She took a full gulp of her wine to sidetrack those thoughts, and reached for an apple slice, chewing on it while looking off into the fire, trying to regain some composure. So far, she hadn't been able to relax into her typical confident, collected manner. Maybe that's because Draco Malfoy had always been able to tip her world around. Tying her tongue in knots though, that was a new thing. Perhaps she was just out of practice verbally sparring with someone? Or maybe it had to do with the fact that they were both older now, and there was definite sexual tension between them?

The truth was that this was all too odd; Malfoy talking to her like they were old friends or lovers. But then, he'd had a lot of practice at this sort of intimate conversation, hadn't he? He'd been in business servicing women all over the world for years. Surely, this ease he projected was just part of the pre-show warm-up for him.

"You're doing it again," he prickly noted. "Shutting down."

She swallowed the last of the apple at the same time as she glugged down a metaphorical pint of jitters. "I… can't help it. I feel like-" Stumbling over her words, Hermione felt suddenly very foolish and out of sorts. "We're thinking about doing… _that_… and we're not even friends," she bluntly pointed out the obvious, struggling to correctly convey her thoughts.

"No, we're not friends," Malfoy admitted, and the words drew her head around, her eyes widening in shock and disappointment. "But then, given our start, there wasn't much of a chance of that happening when we were kids."

Ah, yes, the ugly truth reared its head again.

"No, I suppose not."

"But we're not kids anymore, Hermione," he pointed out in that purring voice that made her stomach flip-flop. "We're free to be whomever we want and we can do whatever we want - and it's _no one's_ business but _ours_."

The way he said the last was a warning, of sorts, and Hermione understood enough of social cues to know he was inferring to her outside relationships. "Don't double speak, Malfoy. Just say what you mean," she demanded, a little perturbed now. "You're talking about Harry and Ron."

With a quick move, Draco sat up, downed almost the entirety of his glass at once and set it down on the small table nearby. Now he looked like the Malfoy she remembered from school – eyes narrowed, jaw set, restrained violence in his shoulders. "I'll be honest with you, Granger. I won't answer to your overprotective Auror friends for what happens between us today. I won't be accused of coercing you to my bed using some sort of dark magic either. _You_ made the appointment and _you_ came here under your own power. You'll stay, and you'll enjoy me until you get your money's worth, and then you'll leave me at your whim. Remember that."

Something about the way he said that last bit…

It clicked for her a moment later.

Equally swigging her entire drink in one pull, knowing she'd regret it later but needing a little liquid courage right then, she put her stem on the table next to his and stared hard at him. "I know I agreed to freely come here. You don't need to remind me. But, here's something you're dead wrong about, Malfoy: I'm _not _using you," she very firmly stated. "That was _never_ my intention."

The handsome blond bitterly laughed, all pretense at seduction now gone from his tone and demeanor. "Aren't you? Isn't it?" He stood, breathing hard with inhibited anger, and moved over to the fire, keeping his back to her. "Then why did you come here, Granger, if not to fuck me? Pay the man-whore and get an unforgettable fantasy that you'll remember for the rest of your life, right? Isn't that what you want? It's what every woman who comes here wants."

Godric, he sounded really indignant - and terribly cynical. Suddenly, Hermione felt pity for this magnificent man before her, never realizing until now that maybe he didn't actually enjoy being blessed with the gift of sex magic. It was supposedly a great honor to be bestowed with this rarest of innate talents, yet Draco didn't seem very happy to speak of it now. In fact, he seemed almost to resent being what he was.

With shaky bravado, she decided to answer his wrongful accusation with the truth, needing to explain her purpose for being here today, even if it cost her this chance. She didn't want Draco thinking she'd come here to exploit him. "Actually, I originally made the appointment with you because I wanted to talk to you."

Her host turned swiftly about, his face a mask of surprised skepticism.

"You can believe it or not, but the fact is that I only wanted to become reacquainted with you again now that we're adults," she admitted. "To see if maybe we had anything in common, over tea or dinner." She sighed in resignation. "But, your return correspondence made it clear that you thought we were booking a," she swallowed back her disquiet again, "a _sex session_. And I wasn't sure how to tell you the truth because your rules were quite clear about the arrangements – no getting personal, you said. I was afraid if I tried to explain… if I asked you on a proper date outright, you'd cancel and I'd never get the chance to meet with you one-on-one again. So, I pretended to go along with your requirements."

Draco said nothing, merely watched her through narrowed eyes. Pulling a strawberry off the plate in distraction, Hermione chewed into it, wanting to sink into the floor right at that moment in utter humiliation.

_Well, now that the flood gates are open... might as well go for broke. _

"I will admit that over the last few days, since I received your confirmation note, I've been thinking a lot about… sex… with you," she confirmed. "I won't lie and say I haven't wondered what would happen if we, you know, crossed _that_ line finally." She cleared her throat and fiddled with her hair, pulling on a wayward curl and drawing it forward over her shoulder. "You put the idea in my head, after all! Was I really _not_ supposed to think about it? Honestly? Especially after what we'd done years ago? I'm only human, you know."

He remained awkwardly silent.

She sighed again. "Draco, I need you to understand that I'm willing to walk out of here today without anything more than a few hours of good conversation, some wine and some fruit." She held up the bitten end of her strawberry and sadly smiled at the ironic imagery. "I wouldn't see it as time wasted if all we did was finally come to a satisfactory understanding of the past. I need closure at least, if there's no possibility of anything more in the future between us."

He continued to contemplate her words in silence while she put the inedible end of the berry down and reached for an orange wedge next. Stripping the pulp off the rind nervously, she wiped the juice off her chin with a fingertip, her insides churning in fear as the seconds stretched into minutes.

Would he throw her out now that she'd admitted her duplicity? His damned rules were so specific!

"Why now?" he finally asked. "Why the sudden interest in me now? Why not five years ago, or ten?"

She sniffed in sad amusement. "For all of the same reason we've never been friends, Draco: your family, my friends, our past, my job, your… _job_, society's prejudice in general." She looked at him, sincerely sorrowful that she had wasted so much time, but knowing it was necessary space they'd both needed to grow and to allow the world to forget their once-upon-a-time enmity. "But a few months back, I saw you at the Ministry Christmas party. You didn't notice me, what with that beautiful blonde on your arm the whole night, but I saw you, and I suddenly remembered our sixth year again, and I realized that the world has _finally_ moved on, and that now, there would be more acceptance on both sides if you and I were to, well, begin relations, as it were." She faltered again, feeling like a child caught stealing candy, and being forced to fess up. "Truthfully, I never really forgot that Saturday afternoon in the seventh floor corridor, Draco. It's followed me around ever since – in here." She touched her right hand to a spot just above her left breast. "However, as I stated earlier, if there's no chance for anything more – if your rigid rules won't let there be, or if you just don't like me that way - then closure would be nice, at the very least. I just need to know, one way or the other, so I can stop feeling this way."

Again Malfoy remained closed and silently introspective; he just stared at her, and Hermione was sure she'd just made a grave mistake in coming clean about her long-time interest in him. How many women clients had confessed their love to him over the years? Probably most of them. How stupid could she have been, really? This whole thing was one giant cock-up.

Running her free hand over her eyes, she stood and made to get ready to leave, straightening out the hem of her shirt in an attempt to regain some decorum. "Clearly this was all a mistake. I'm sorry I wasted your time, Malfoy. But I really do wish you luck and happiness." She held her hand out to shake, and slowly, he raised his own to take it.

_Well, that answers that question_, she sorrowfully realized, and started to pull her fingers away.

But Draco wouldn't let her go. Instead, he held onto her hand for a few seconds more, seeming to internally fight with a decision. It was the hardened determination in his eyes that alerted her to his intentions a nanosecond before he acted. With a rough jerk, he pulled her into his arms and slammed his mouth down onto hers in a kiss that blew her away.

* * *

_**TO BE CONTINUED...**_


	3. Chapter 3

**CHAPTER THREE**

Stunned into senselessness, Hermione didn't react at first. All she could do was blink as her whole body went first numb, and then flushed with heat.

Slowly closing her eyelids, she gave herself over to the kiss, leaned into Draco's strength and wrapped her arms about him to keep him close. He was feverishly warm. His magical aura pulsed against hers with waves of soothing pleasure, and she sighed in longing as his tongue lapped at her mouth, stroking every crevice, coaxing and teasing.

Godric help her, she tasted it again - the same burning need pulsed in her mouth. It was just as she remembered: dry fire and scorching truth, like the blazing desert air. His kiss was a cleansing and a claiming all at once, searing her very soul with its intensity. It was beautiful and honest, and carried the weight of his long-suffering regret and his incurable need. Opening up with a lusty mewl of pleasure, Hermione took him all in, willingly letting Draco shove his sorrow and desire into her. She drank it all, shared in it, returned it with every pass of her tongue over his, running her hands up over his chest, caressing his shoulders, to sink into his silky, soft hair and hold on for all she was worth at the same time.

He groaned in response, his hands roaming up her body to cup her cheeks, slowing the kiss down. They pulled back and stared through their lashes at each other, both with pinked cheeks and baited breath.

"I don't want to use you," she whispered, shaking like a leaf. "You're not just… I know we never really had the chance to know each other better, but… Draco, despite what you may think, you mean more to me than just sex." Tears filled her eyes now. "And I don't want this to be the only time we touch."

There was true lament on his face, as Malfoy dropped all his posturing. He pressed his forehead to hers and shut his eyes. "I can't. It's not just a rule, Hermione." He licked his lips, took a deep breath and let it out between clenched teeth. "This thing I am - the _Kāmaḥ_ - it's not a gift. It's a family curse. Centuries ago, one of my line raped a Veela and bound her to him by impregnating her, preventing her from being with her true mate. The day she gave birth, she retaliated by hexing the son she bore – my direct ancestor - cursing him with insatiable lust upon adulthood so he would never know the touch of any woman but once. Then, she murdered her husband and abandoned her kid at a French monastery. The curse has irregularly cropped up in the Malfoy line ever since." He squeezed his eyes shut tight, clearly in emotional pain. "I'm the first in over one hundred and fifty years to be afflicted." Mournful silver eyes opened and impaled her heart. "I'll die if I don't sate this curse, but I'll also die if I try to do so more than once with the same woman. The magic knows."

Hermione's knees did give out then, but Draco quickly captured her around the waist and led her to the settee. "Oh, Merlin!" she murmured. The horror of his predicament! Insatiable wanderlust meant he could never know love - and that was a death sentence to the soul. Human beings could not exist without the capacity to give unselfish love without becoming something dark and ugly; Voldemort _proved_ that theory. And what she knew of Malfoy when they'd touched as children, and again just now, she understood that he wasn't built for being alone. He'd die an empty shell in the end - and for something that wasn't even his fault! Hot tears stained her cheeks, dripping down off her jaw to splash onto her hands as they lay limply in her lap. "It's not fair."

From the corner of her eye, she saw him shake his head. "No, it's not." Godric, his voice… it sounded so lifeless. "But I'm not ready to die yet. So, I have to keep doing this."

"And when you are ready?" she asked, already knowing the answer.

"I'll turn my wand on myself," he stated insensate. "_Avada_ is quick, relatively clean."

Something within Hermione snapped. Was this some sick idea of universal justice for the sins Draco had committed during the war? He'd never killed anyone, never raped an innocent, so why would he receive such an unfair punishment. It was all _so wrong!_

"No."

Steel laced itself up her spine. The woman who had been lost for so many years – the one that had faced down Death Eaters and Bellatrix Lestrange's _Crucio_, who had braved the fury of a mad dragon in Gringott's vaults, who had tricked a werewolf, who had (somewhat) tamed a giant, and who had traveled back through time to set right a terrible wrong against an honest man – padded like the lioness she was to the forefront once again, renewed of purpose. "I'll find a way to free you, Draco," she swore. "This curse… there's got to be a way to cancel it. No magic is forever."

He took her hands in his and looked down, openly defeated in a way she hadn't seen from him aside from that day in the hallway so many years ago. "My parents and I, we've spent a fortune trying to find a way to break the curse since it first manifested. Until it's gone, I can't have children and I'm the last Malfoy heir. We've hired top researchers, and magical and medical experts. No one's found a thing." He looked tired when his face raised again to hers. "The curse is unbreakable except with my death."

She set her jaw and her spine. "I don't believe that. I _can't_ accept it!" She stood, furious at the spitefulness of such a spell. Magic was supposed to help the world, not hurt it. Magic always 'fixed' those who practiced wrong-doings in the end. Voldemort had found that out when the magic he'd twisted for too long for his evil deeds was finally responsible for doing him in. "Magic serves the Greater Good. That's how it's always been," she insisted. She began pacing back and forth, uncaring about the scrape of her ridiculously high shoes against the backs of her heels now, all her concentration focused on clearing the cobwebs from her rusted mental faculties and airing out her brain for the first time in years. "There _must_ be a way to make it serve your needs." She bit her lip.

Draco sighed and stood, blocking her path. "Granger… Granger, _stop_." He grabbed for her shoulders to still her frantic movements. "We're wasting what little time we have left. Only one session per client, remember? The appointment is for four hours – the maximum I can stand being in a room with the same female touching me for any given time." He checked an antique clock above the mantle. "We've already lost forty-two minutes. I don't want to waste what time we have left." He feathered her cheeks with the knuckles of one hand. "I've waited ten years for you. I never stopped thinking about you either. My powers manifested early, very briefly for the first time when we touched that afternoon, but I'll never regret you being the trigger." He stepped into her, cupping her face with gentle hands. "I'm only sorry I didn't have a chance to have you before I completely came into my birthright." He leaned forward and placed a sweet kiss upon her lips. "Will you let me make love to you now? _Please_ say yes."

He kissed her again, but Hermione's eyes were wide and she didn't respond, the wheels in her head turning and turning and _turning_ over the information he'd just given her.

His powers had initially appeared when they'd touched that first time? And yet here he was touching her again. How was that possible if the magic knew he could only be with a person once? Unless…

When he pulled back, he looked perplexed at her unresponsiveness. "What is it?"

"Repeat for me what you just said," she breathed, praying she'd heard right. "Just then."

He blinked in obvious confusion. "I just begged you to let me take you to bed, Granger. I thought that was pretty clear."

She shook her head. "No, before that. You said your powers appeared for the first time when we touched, right?" He thought about it for a few seconds, and nodded. "Had you touched other girls before me? Sexually, I mean?"

He nodded. "I'd had a few girls before then, yes."

She broke from his embrace, took a few steps and slid back down onto the settee, absently picking up some chocolate and nibbling on it, hardly noticing its fine texture and smooth, velvety richness across her tongue. She pointed the bitten off piece of food in his direction. "You said a Veela cursed your family?"

He ran a hand through his hair in frustration. "Granger, we're wasting time-"

"Answer the question, please," she cut him off, her mind moving out of seduction-emotion mode and into puzzle-solving mode. She compartmentalized her thoughts and feelings, falling back into a routine she hadn't utilized since seventh year, searching for Horcruxes.

"Yes, a Veela," he bit, clearly frustrated and angry again. "Why does that matter?"

She looked up at him with an expression she knew was probably queer in its intensity. "What did you feel with me a few minutes ago when we were kissing? Was it different from any other woman you've taken to your bed in all the years since you came into your powers as a _Kāmaḥ_ practitioner?"

He froze, between one heartbeat and the next, considering her words. "Ye-yeah. You're different. Kissing you feels… singularly distinct."

Hermione the Woman hummed in approval, but Hermione the Logician forced herself back on track. "In what ways?" He paused, clearly uneasy with revealing his feelings to her, but she threw him an impatient look. "Think of me as a clinical doctor right now and describe your symptoms."

He snorted in amusement. "In that outfit? All I can think about is how much I want to rip it off you and fuck you hard."

She felt her right eyebrow rise in interest. "Go on. Describe the feelings of lust. How do they _specifically_ make you feel?"

He seemed taken aback. "How do they make me feel?" He laughed, and ran a hand through his long bangs in frustration. "I want to shag you into the mattress, Granger. I want to hold you down, mark you as mine and come so deep inside you that you'll know who you belong to. I want to get you with my child – no, children. As in fucking multiple times, for years. Is that specific enough for you?"

She bit her lip in trepidation. What he was describing sounded almost like…

"Do you feel or have you ever felt that strongly about any of your other clients?"

Draco turned away, clearly thinking back. It was several long minutes later before he spoke again, this time with great hesitancy. "No. I mean, I've always felt lust, but not like this. It was always a short-term, one-off thing with women. But when I think of doing it with you…" He took a deep breath and let it out slow. "I feel anxious, almost desperate. Kind of nervous, even."

"How would you mark me?" She knew she was pushing it, but if there was even a chance that she was right in her silent supposition, she knew this was an important question to ask. "Would it be a bite of some kind?"

When he turned his gaze back on her, it was darker, hungrier again – similar to the look he'd given her back in that seventh floor corridor, just before he'd launched himself at her. Predatory hunger flashed in those silvery irises ringed with sable once more. He remained silent, although the sound of his breathing had kicked up a notch or two in the hushed room.

Hermione decided to try an experiment. "Did you know that I gave my body to Ronald Weasley the first time I had true intercourse? He broke me in."

That sounded so disgustingly crude, even to her ears, but it definitely prompted a response: a dark hunger intermingled with growing jealousy slid through his eyes, causing the angles of his face to grow sharper, the steel in his eyes harder, his frown deeper.

Interesting.

"He wasn't that attentive a lover, though," she pretend-bragged, hoping to prove her theory right. "But Oliver Wood was next, and he was _much_ better at it. He taught me all sorts of naughty fun, including oral pleasure."

A rumbling growl was emitted from between Malfoy's lips and those perfect, golden eyebrows slanted down in rising fury.

Fascinating.

"Your friend, Theodore Nott, was full of surprises in bed, too," she purposefully goaded his temper. "He knew just what to do to me to help me get over Wood. Sessions with him lasted for hours, and usually involved some sort of soft bondage. I fell in love with him, you know."

At his sides, Draco's hands clenched into tight, white fists and a visible quivering ran up and down his body as his growling morphed into a snarl.

Merlin's rod, there was almost no question what was going on now. She'd try one last thing, though, just to make sure.

"But it was my last lover who taught me how to _really_ enjoy sex," she taunted, adding a bit of smug flirt to her act. "It was Harry, you know. He enjoyed experimenting on me with toys. I almost got pregnant once with his baby even-"

And that was all it took for his temper to snap. With a roar, Draco lunged at her. Stepping out of her shoes with a squeak, Hermione ducked and ran barefoot around the sofa, intentionally putting the furniture between them, recognizing the danger she was in: she'd just enraged a male Veela. Well, part Veela, in Malfoy's case. No wonder the _Kāmaḥ _was so strong in him! His kind were innately_ extremely_ sexual beings.

Godric, she hated being right all the time!

Draco was all animal instinct now, eyes tracking her, body stalking her as she'd hurried away from the settee across the room, his face filled with the promise of retribution for her goading. Hermione didn't provoke him further, recognizing from her research (Ron's sister-in-law, Fleur, had almost been _her_ sister-in-law by marriage at one point, too, so she'd done her homework to learn more about them as a result) that what Draco was exhibiting was nothing less than a Veela's full heat finally come upon him.

Which meant that she was his mate.

Well, that definitely explained everything on her end of things, too - specifically her inability to give her heart over to another man after Draco had touched her all those years ago, when his powers were first manifesting.

She put her arms out just as Malfoy cornered her and stepped into her personal space. "I lied," she admitted, needing to explain before things got out of hand. "About that last part. I've never had sex with Harry. Not once. And I never enjoyed sex with anyone else. I've never been in love, either. I haven't been able to be - and I just figured out why."

Draco didn't seem to be hearing her, fixated as he was on pulling her into him so he could go cave-man on her, so she tried slapping him across the face to get his attention. "Listen to what I'm saying! Get hold of yourself!" He growled again, this time right in her face, and then he picked her up by the waist as if she weighed nothing and headed for the bed. "Put me down, you Neanderthal! We have to talk about this! I know what the problem is! I know why you're acting like this! Let me explain, will you?"

Just then, they passed the Mirror of Erised, and Hermione looked into its cold, grey depths… and saw her heart's desire. The Mirror had just shown her the one vision she'd needed to see for years. Merciful heavens above, she knew how to save him from this curse, and how to defeat her crushing loneliness in one, fell swoop!

"I know how to help you. We should talk about this first, though," she pleaded upon deaf ears.

As they neared the bed, the reality of what was about to happen between she and Draco came crashing down on her. It had been more than two years since she'd last had sex… "Please stop, Draco, you're frightening your _mate_."

He dropped her into the center of his bed onto her bum, and then began pacing in short, quick strides back and forth before her, his gaze never leaving hers, his face a mask of confusion and lust. He looked like he was trying to crawl out of his very skin; he was fighting against nature's demand that he claim her, she knew.

Oooh, boy. This was _not_ what she had been expecting when she'd come here today! She hadn't necessarily wanted them to have sex... and yet that's _exactly_ what had to happen next, because the Mirror had shown her the 'cure' for both of them: he had to properly mate her as a Veela. If she wanted to break this string of bad luck which had apparently been affecting the both of them unexpectedly for the last decade and shut down the curse of his sex magic, it was the only way. Still, she was bloody terrified by the decision!

With trembling fingers, Hermione began removing her jewelry, dropping each piece off the end of the bed, knowing she'd collect it later. Malfoy watched her for signs that she intended on escaping him again. It was like he was a completely different person suddenly - a much more dangerous person, whose capacity for violence had just precipitously escalated. Her mouth ran as dry as the desert as she fought to control her fear, knowing the scent of it would only excite him more. Slowly, she reached for the hem of her shirt and pulled the stretchy material up and over her head, tossing it to the side without care, and hastily removed her bra, revealing her naked torso to his perusal for the first time.

Between one step and the next, the predator hovering nearby stilled. It was so sudden and complete an act that it caused an ingrained biologic response in the prey: she mirrored him, frozen in unabashed terror, hovering on the brink for the telltale sign of his attack. The air between them was thick with intent; magical electricity arched between their auras, scenting of anticipation. His nostrils flared as he took a deep breath through his nose, and his eyes burned with need.

"Slow," she whispered as evenly and coolly as she could, trying to calm him. "I'm scared, so please go slow."

He visibly quaked, tensed for action but she could sense him fighting the compulsion to take what was his by biologic right with the higher part of his human brain. His long, pale fingers stretched out, cracked at the knuckles at his sides and he inhaled again, filling his lungs with the perfume of her emotions… and her arousal. A threatening, slow rumble of urgent longing emitted from between his lips.

Swallowing down the heavy lump of panic in her throat, Hermione reached for the waistline of her pants and worked them off her legs, along with her knickers. Mate or not, she almost didn't recognize the man standing before her now. Gone was the Draco Malfoy she had known as a child, and even the one of fifteen minutes before. In his place was a creature of pure masculine beauty and intimidating hazard.

Reaching her ankles, she pulled the items off and dropped them away as well. Fully nude before this man for the first time in her life, Hermione fought hard to quell her shaking. "Slow," she cautioned again, holding a hand out to him. "Gentle."

Between one blink and the next, he was in her face, nose centimeters from hers, hands braced on either side of her body on the mattress, knees between her legs, having moved faster than possible for a mere human. There was no question what he was then.

Oh, gods. Oh, gods! _OH, GODS!_

"Please be slow," she begged, on the verge of hysterics, trying to reach the real him shoved back inside, behind this creature's slavish desires. "Your mate is… Draco, I'm really frightened."

His hand came into her peripheral vision. It moved at the pace she had requested, allowing her time to see it, watch it, and wait for it to rest upon her shoulder. Eyes the color of molten silver stared into her heart, and she was helplessly locked onto their demands as he pushed and flowed down with her, laying her back against the satiny coverlet of his bed. The kiss he branded her with as he dropped his mouth tasted of sweet promise and greedy, dark hunger.

When he thrust his tongue against hers, there came with it the marking chemical she'd read about that was unique to every Veela. Juicy, fresh berries splashed through her mouth again, and it tasted just like their first kiss, only this time, it was followed by the rich, simmering bite of a good, aged wine. The flavors flowed together into her as she suckled on his tongue.

This was it - the beginning of the claiming…

* * *

_**TO BE CONTINUED…**_


	4. Chapter 4

**CHAPTER FOUR**

Hermione knew there was no chance now to change her mind. Not that she would have, but as of the second Draco had touched the mating chemical to her skin, their Veela mating bond – which had begun that night in front of the Room of Requirement, but was never fully consummated - had become a more permanent binding. She was now irrevocably his.

Fire raced through her spine, igniting every inch of skin, causing her knees to unconsciously fall to the sides, her hands to grip Malfoy's arm tighter, and her eyelashes to flutter. She let loose a deep, sultry moan from her throat, signaling him for more taste, more tongue, and wetter ravaging of her mouth. Her would-be lover's bigger body enveloped her as he leaned into the demands, one of his hands twining around her curls, freeing them, fingering them as he continued his magical assault upon her senses. Between her lower lips, Hermione felt her slippery, wet response to his ministrations, even as the fingers of his free hand caressed her right nipple, wringing a hiss of unadulterated pleasure from between her teeth. He cupped the breast, his thumb rubbing the sensitive, rose-colored bud into excitement, pinching it and gently pulling until she was gasping and whimpering and mewling in desperate need.

Lapping at her lips, Draco pulled back, hovering over her, ghosting her mouth. "Look at me," he charmed her in a low, honeyed voice that was deeper, more resonant, as if there were two of him simultaneously speaking, the voices in perfect sync. His Veela and his human self had finally merged.

Peeking through her lashes in acquiescence, Hermione felt her heart slam into the back of her ribs. Malfoy was biting his lower lip, splitting it, preparing for the blood marking part of the ritual. A bead of glistening red welled to the surface on the thin, pink rim of skin, and trickled down his chin in a thin, slowly weaving line, heading straight for her lips. Terrified, Hermione unconsciously pursed her lips together.

"Open up."

He didn't seduce nor request her compliance now; he demanded it in a show of arrogant male dominance, fisting some of her hair and applying pressure to tilt her head back so they were perfectly aligned for her to receive his gift, while at the same time tweaking her nipple harder, causing her to gasp and her mouth to finally part.

A second passed, and the first drop of his life-giving fluid dripped into the crack of her aperture and slid across her tongue. The light tang of brine mixed up with a powerful, ambrosial sweet flavor. Combined with the succulent residual of the lingering mating substrate already resident on her tongue, it caused an instantaneous flushing of warmth throughout Hermione's body. From head to toe, her flesh became one charged current of hungry, sexual _need_.

She knew from her research that Veela blood was an aphrodisiac, laced with extremely potent pheromones as a result of a clever evolutionary design in the DNA so as to addict mates to each other. Combining such sanguineous fluid with the unique mating enzyme every male Veela gave off created an enthralling, heady chemical cocktail that had real biologic consequences for his female: from this moment on, the experience of any other man's fluids within her body would make Hermione extremely nauseated. The only man she could sexually crave for a kiss or for his seed would be Draco Malfoy, her mate.

A second droplet hit her tongue, skyrocketing her lustful craving, and without conscious thought, she was suddenly pulling his face down towards hers, and openly begging for more. By the third taste of his blood, the enticement she'd felt earlier between her legs mounted into full-out aching arousal. The entrance to her channel pulsated, the muscles inside her vagina contracted and rippled, her engorged clit was hyper-sensitive. "More!" she begged, sliding her naked thighs up his still-clothed body, pressing her exposed core against the front of his trousers, dampening them with her slick release. "Want you. Need you now, Draco, _please!_"

When he finally lowered his mouth to hers to allow her to suckle his bloodied lower lip, she latched on and greedily lapped, eliciting a rumbling moan from his chest. The hand in her hair tightened, pulling her into him and he kissed back as if he were eating her mouth. He thrust his hips into hers at the same moment, rubbing a rock hard erection in between her lower lips. A thin sheen of perspiration beaded her brow and dampened under her arms and between her thighs as the blazing burn intensified. "Yes," she led him on, kneading her fingernails into his shirt collar. "Don't stop."

The scent of her wet sex perfumed the air, intoxicating to her mate, who groaned and shifted to lift his body off of hers, while maintaining their lip lock.

Her mate was as lost to this seduction now as she. Frantically, he ripped his clothes off, desperate to be naked, too. When he'd succeeded in baring his body, he immediately moved back over her to fill the flash-cooled space he'd left behind, and pressed one hand between her legs without hesitation. Seeking out her swollen, hot nub of flesh, he began stroking her need again, all the while lathing her breasts with long, even strokes of his tongue, gently biting her nipples.

"Go inside," she mewled, gripping his wrist and encouraging his fingers to find her sopping entrance.

Pushing through her folds, he pierced her entrance and shoved upwards with two fingers until his hand could go no further. "Like this?" he asked, slowly pumping in and out, nipping her tit with his sharp teeth, a knowing chuckle held in his tone.

Her hand moved with his, matching each thrust with a stroke across her clitoris. "Yes," she sighed in mounting pleasure, closing her eyes and tilting her head back, heaving deep breaths through her open mouth. The aphrodisiac was working its way through her system, making her pant like an animal in heat, inciting flames through her tingling limbs, every nerve and vein in her body crackling with pleasurable sensations. The craving to couple with her mate, to lock their flesh together, to feel him deep within her was all consuming. Within a short time, under Draco's expert tutelage, she had transformed into a creature of pure lust – and it felt _so good, so right_. She never wanted this torture to end. "Taste me, too. Bring me that way."

Another rumble of anticipatory pleasure rolled from his throat as he lowered his mouth down her body, trailing liquid fire in his wake, circling her bellybutton with his tongue, and finally dipping between her legs. He stuck his nose against her sensitive flesh and inhaled, imprinting on her scent. "Sweet mate," he sighed and proceeded to eat her out with deliciously tantalizing, slow strokes of his tongue and tender suckling on her clit and fleshy lips.

As soon as he rimmed her saturated entrance, and the mating chemical was thrust inside her channel with repeated pistoning action by his soft, pink tongue, Hermione felt a new kind of tingling that had her climaxing so hard she nearly blacked out. Draco grabbed her hips and shoved his nose and mouth back in, greedily drinking up her release, gently biting and snarling as he pulled her in tight against his face, her scream of delight loud and lusty as he rode out the wave of her fulfillment with her.

Despite orgasming, Hermione still felt hollow and incomplete deep in her womb and in her heart; she needed to be Draco's in all ways, so much so that it physically hurt. "Please, _please,_" she was begging, hardly coherent. Her fingers pulled on his hair, trying to yank him back up her body. "Mark me," she begged between clenched teeth, practically sobbing. "Make me yours."

With a final swipe across her bead, her lover worked his way back up towards her mouth again, allowing her to taste her juices combined with the marking chemical's sweetness as they clashed in a chaotic fusion of lips and tongues once more. Their cheeks and chins were moistened with her fluids as they shared and devoured one another's flavors, both driven mad with want.

Draco's hand separated her thighs further, insistently parting them as he pressed his solid, sizable erection into the pillows of her lower lips, dampening his silken length by shoving through her slit once. He lined them up, the tip of his erection straining against her, teasing by resting right at the entrance. "_My _mate, _my_ love," he possessively growled in her ear, and with a sharp arching of his back and a snap of his hips, he slammed forward into her with one powerful thrust, stretching her out, filling her up. They both gasped at the exquisite feeling of finally, _finally _connecting.

When the tip of him touched the back of her, he was sheathed all the way inside to the hilt. They perfectly fit. "Yours," she purred against his lips in acknowledgement of his claim and bit him, her fingers sliding through his silken, platinum hair. "And you are mine."

He licked her mouth. "Yes, yours," he moaned in pleasure and a surge of his hips, leaving no second wasted, eagerly melding their lives together.

The chorus of their moaning, gasping encouragements was met with profound feeling as they watched the other's face and body, gliding as one in a synchronous rhythm. Hermione's natural instincts and Draco's sexual expertise harmoniously coordinated, crafting a smooth, erotic, breath-stealing dance that made her weep in its profound beauty. Her fingers memorized the contracting muscles of his back with each rolling heave forward and with each reluctant withdrawal, smoothing over the sway of his sweat-damped spine, skimming over his surging hips and the sides of his tense, powerful thighs, gripping his flexing backside. He was glorious to behold in his mating of her, and the feelings… Her heart opened, her aura resonated, her soul embraced. She was finally making love to the man of her dreams!

As Draco bent to retrieve her lips once more, her lover's driving pitch kicked-up in pace, his whole body straining towards completion. The bed violently moved beneath them, and his gasping breath became more pronounced. With an easy push-up, he leaned over her once more and bit his lip again, this time in preparation for the final marking, and Hermione's heart nearly burst in exhilaration. He bent his lips to her ear before moving towards his final destination. "You're mine," he hissed in that oddly amalgamated voice that was both animal and man, trailing his bloodied lip over her sensitive throat. He briefly stopped to bite on the pulse point before heading further down, preparing to give her the second mark. His hips fiercely plunged into her, rocking the entire bed frame, and the pain bordered on pleasure as they crashed together again and again. Poised over her left breast, Hermione glanced down to watch in awe as sharp, curved fangs punched through his gums over his top canines, adding to the blood streaming down his chin. His gaze moved to hers and they locked eyes – silver meeting bronze. "Say it," he snarled, gripping her hips tight enough to leave bruises. "Say you're mine forever!"

Hermione trembled from head to toe, and her voice shook with pent-up emotion as she made her vow. "With my last breath, I am yours, Draco."

He lapped at a spot just to the left of her sternum, above her breast, humming in pleasure at her words, and then struck so fast that she didn't see the movement, only felt it when his needle-like fangs pierced through her layers of skin with precision, sinking directly into her aorta, pumping the Veela mating hormone-pheromone cocktail into the largest artery in her body. At the same time, his thrusting became manic, slamming into her in a desperate urgency. There was a dizzying shift in Hermione's vision, her body burned with fire, and then the impossible happened: just as she orgasmed again, her cervix parted, opening and rising, and the tip of his penis passed through the short canal into her uterus, where, with a muffled cry of triumph and pleasure, Draco came in great, wracking spurts that shot into the very center of her feminine self.

It was an emotionally shattering moment, and Hermione willingly accepted the consequences…

The Veela chemistry, she knew from her previous research, had altered her body the moment the mating hormone had touched her tongue, sending the signal to immediately release an egg. The injection of the chemicals into her blood stream through the aortal piercing would ensure that her womb's lining would be optimally prepared for fertilization by increasing the blood flow to that area, tricking her body into believing it was in prime ovulation. Within a few hours, she knew she'd be pregnant from what they'd just done. And since Veela mates – especially those who had successfully copulated and conceived a baby - were permanently changed to attune to each other's scents, tastes and drives, it would be impossible for either of them to take another lover ever again.

The ultimate result was that the curse that had plagued Draco for ten years had been nullified by the magic of this, their successful Veela mating. He would never again be forced to take another woman, because he now had his proper mate. The power of the Spirit of _Kāmah _was broken.

Hermione started crying, simply overwhelmed by everything that had happened in the span of less than an hour and a half.

Relaxing his jaw, and carefully sliding his fangs out of her skin, Draco licked the two, small puncture marks on her chest, using his Veela saliva to clot and magically heal them and quick-repair her artery deep down inside, where the spit would travel. She felt the skin pucker and close in seconds. Her lover, still under the influence of the animal part of his nature, however, grew almost immediately hard again. "_More_," he growled, that odd confluence of his voice and his Veela's merging once more to make him sound deeper, rougher. He grabbed her wrists from about his neck and pinned them to the bed. "Want all of you again." He nuzzled her throat, bit down, not hard enough to break skin, but enough to leave an impression of his teeth she was sure, as he left behind a visible love bite on her collar.

Just like that, Hermione's body – deliciously sore and swollen as it was – instantly slickened, heated, flushed. "Godric, _yes_!"

Grunting and gasping, Draco's hips resumed their pistoning action, and his iron-hard cock slammed in and out of her tight, sopping body once more. He ferociously kissed her, his sexual hunger leaving him feverish, casting a glazed look to his eyes. "Need you, mate. _Only you_," he muttered, as enraptured by her as she was of him. "Never let you go now. _Never_."

"Yes," Hermione murmured in his ear, tears spilling down her cheeks. If only they'd done this all those years ago, neither of them would have spent the last decade suffering! "I only need you, too."

Sliding his grip up her wrists to entwine their fingers, he slowed down, the man within beginning to take over. He suckled on the skin above her shoulder, bruising her one moment with hard pressure, and then lathing over it with a soft tongue. His lips roamed up her throat, her jaw, her cheek, and finally settled on her mouth again. "Love you, Hermione," he whispered. "Always loved you. Since that year… never forgot, never loved another. Just you. Always just you." He gasped as his pace increased, indicating he was cresting the sweet wave of fulfillment. "Stay with me always."

Nodding her head, suckling on his sweetly-flavored tongue, taking more of the chemical into her system, she murmured in agreement with his wishes. She squeezed his hands, even as her abs and hips and buttocks tensed and electricity arced through her core, bringing on a powerful orgasm that rocked through her entire body, head to toe. "Draco, _YES!_" She held on tight as she was transposed to Heaven. "Yes, oh, gods,_ yes!_"

Thrusting one final time, her lover followed her over the abyss, filling her again with his warm seed, a violent gasp wrenched from his chest as he came inside her spasming womb, his long, pale fingers tangled with hers, comforting, reassuring.

Melting in the afterglow, Hermione lay in Draco's arms as he expertly rolled them to their sides, remaining locked deep within her body. He pulled her face to his chest and ran soothing hands over her shoulders and back, kissing the top of her head, rubbing his cheek against her hair. When she'd calmed, they silently held onto each other, both lost in their own thoughts for more than an hour. In that time, she sensed his Veela side retreat back into his mind, where it would stay until the next time they made love. His body relaxed, although he continued to nuzzle her, languidly running his fingers against the back of her neck and through her tangled curls.

Somewhere around the six o'clock hour, Draco suddenly gasped and tensed up, and at that exact moment, Hermione felt an odd tingle in her uterus. She'd conceived. The knowledge was instinctual and magically induced, and it explained why he'd reacted.

"What was that?" her mate murmured in shocked awe, his breath hot against her temple. "I feel different all of the sudden. Calmer."

Hermione nodded, tears prickling her eyes again. "I know."

He inhaled, then paused and did it a second time, sniffing her hairline. Leaning up on one arm, he pressed his nose into the bend of her neck. "You're different, too."

She smiled up at him. "I know."

He searched her face for explanation, even as comprehension dawned, the satiation of the lust-craze he'd experienced finally removing the veil from his memory. "I mated you. I'm a Veela."

Hermione confirmed it with a simple nod. "You're a _male_ Veela, one of the rarest creatures in the world."

He blinked. "And the _Kāmah_?"

She shook her head. "As you said, it was a product of the curse, to prevent you from ever falling in love with one woman. By accepting your Veela heritage and taking a mate, though, you've nullified the_ Kāmah's_ wanderlust influence, because Veela can't want anyone sexually but their one, true mate. Magic always serves the Greater Good – in this case, the biologic and magical compulsion of the Veela to carry on the species."

He'd gone still again, not even breathing. "Wait, you're telling me that I'm free - really, truly free?" When she confirmed it all with another silent nod, his jaw dropped. "Holy. Shite." A nervous, excited laugh escaped his lips, and a smile tugged at those full lips of his, and then Draco let out a loud, joyful whoop in sheer happiness. Wrapping his arms about her and rolling onto his back, he continued to laugh. "I'm free! Bloody hell, _I'M FREE_, Granger! I don't… I don't have to fuck ever again!"

Hermione pushed back on the corded muscle of his chest and gave him an arch look at that last, losing her enthusiasm for his elation. "I certainly hope you don't mean that," she chided.

He blinked, appeared to consider what he'd just said, and then shook his head. "No, I mean I don't have to fuck anyone else but _you_. No more meaningless sex. No more being used or manipulated. No more emptiness inside. I can have children, carry on the family name. Do you have any idea how long I've wanted this? How long I've wanted _you__?_" He pulled her face down to his and passionately kissed her, shoving a hand through her hair again, twining his legs through hers. "I thought… Slytherin's soul, Hermione, I thought I'd never be able to have you like this. I thought I'd die alone. I thought I'd never know love." Tears shimmered in his eyes. "I don't have to walk away from you, or turn you away ever again."

It was her turn to be speechless. "So, you really _did_ feel for me back then?" she hesitantly asked, biting her lip. "What you said earlier about… loving me... it wasn't just heat of the moment talk?"

He cupped her cheek and stroked her face and throat with his cradled palm, working his fingers into her tangled curls again. "No," he shyly admitted. "I spent years watching you when we were kids, Granger, trying to decide who you really were, why the sight of you riled me up, why I couldn't make up my mind as to whether I wanted to kill you or kiss you. Everything about you affected me, even my dreams at night." He paused, running his thumb over her bottom lip. "By the end of sixth year, I wished so much that things had been different between us from the start. I wished I'd never gotten tangled up with Voldemort, and that I didn't have the parents I was born to, and that we could just be alone to figure things out about each other, without worrying." He shook his head in amazement. "It seemed almost like fate that you met me on that particular day in front of the Room of Requirement, though." He shut his eyes and a crease appeared in his forehead as he frowned. "I was going to kill myself."

Hermione gasped and tentatively stroked her fingertips over his cheek. "I knew you were sad that year. I watched you, too, remember? But, I didn't know you were hurting that much."

His lashes flickered and then he gazed up at her through half-lids and sighed. "I was taught to hide behind a mask my whole life. By that spring, I thought I didn't have anything left to lose. I didn't have any real friends – no one that I truly trusted, anyway. And I figured out that the Dark Lord had put a price on my head if I didn't do what he'd tasked me to do by graduation. I thought that if I died, it wouldn't reflect too badly on my parents, especially if it was an accident. I'd planned to burn the Room of Hidden Things to ashes, to destroy any chance of anyone ever using that godforsaken Vanishing Cabinet as a way into the school. I'd planned to die in the fire." He stroked her cheek again. "But then I turned around and you were there, blocking the way."

She blinked back tears. "I was spying on you again."

He gave her a knowing smirk. "You stopped reporting my activities to Potter that March." He shook his head. "No, you kept looking for me because you knew I was in trouble, and like the do-gooder Gryffindor you were, you were trying to save me."

Her chest convulsed as the tears streamed down her cheeks now. It was true; she'd betrayed Harry's trust by lying to him and telling him that Malfoy had not been doing anything devious, even when she'd known in her heart he had been. She'd hoped to stop him, but she'd hadn't figured out his plans in time. Her failure and deceit had cost Dumbledore his life. It was a regret she'd had to live with for the last ten years.

"You saved me that day," he called her attention back to him, pressing his forehead into hers. "You made me realize that what I'd felt for you for so long - those feelings that had knotted me up and had me acting like a complete git for years - it was because I'd fallen for you, and couldn't reconcile that with what I'd been taught to think about you." He shut his eyes and shook his head. "I fucked it up between us, though. So much could have been different if we'd just…" He opened his eyes and sincere regret and longing filled them up with sorrow. "I wanted to make love to you so badly that day, Hermione. I wanted it more than I'd ever wanted anything in my whole miserable life. But I was too afraid. There were too many things between us that couldn't have been resolved then." He brushed some fallen strands of hair off her brow. "Like you said, the world needed to finally move on, past the war, past all the blood purity nonsense, and we both had growing up to do. It's just a bloody shame that it took ten years and too many bad experiences-" He looked down and blushed in embarrassment, obviously referring to his history with women, "for us to be ready for each other."

Hermione reached up and tremulously smoothed her fingertips over his lips. "You're mine now, finally, and I'm yours. So, let's not mourn that loss of time too much, Draco. I don't want to spoil what time we have left in the world with regrets." Pressing forward, she gently laid a kiss on his mouth. "Let's just try really hard to be happy every day."

He stared at her with a mixture of warmth, affection and wonder in his glistening, grey eyes. "Sure, I could do that with you." A slow, mischievous smirk wound up his handsome face, and in the next moment, Hermione felt her lover's solid length – engorged with blood and rearing to go once more – rubbing through her slippery, lower depths. "Starting right now, in fact - if you don't have anything else on your schedule for the weekend?"

Her eyes rounded with amazement and she grinned. "You didn't lose the lust portion of the _Kāmaḥ_'s power, did you?"

Waggling golden eyebrows at her, Draco aligned her hips so that he was pressing into her opening at the same time as lifting his shoulders off the mattress in an effortless demonstration of his incredible abdominal strength. He pressed his nose against hers. "Apparently, my curse and my Veela have come to an understanding where you're concerned, mate." He slid into her, burying himself to the hilt once more inside her snug body. "Think of it this way: you're getting the best of all worlds – a man who's helpless but to worship your body and your heart, who will never cheat on you, and who can honestly say he loves and lusts for you. Sound like something you want to keep, Granger?"

Wiggling atop him, adjusting to the thickness that deliciously stretched her out, preparing for another vigorous round of panting, wet, sizzling sex, Hermione smiled, feeling her inner siren coming out to play for the first time ever. "Sure, Malfoy, I could do that with you."

* * *

_**TO BE CONCLUDED…**_


	5. Chapter 5 Epilogue

**CHAPTER FIVE: EPILOGUE – FIVE YEARS LATER**

Hermione lifted the small, wooden box from within Draco's old school trunk and walked out of the walk-in closet to their bedroom, holding it up. "What's this?"

Her husband looked up from playing patty-cake with their daughter on their bed, his hands still gently gripping the tiny fingers. The man was totally enamored of their baby girl, who had been conceived in love that afternoon they'd mated, and Hermione was enthralled by the depth and strength of his fatherly bond. She couldn't help but worry just a little, however, that all of the overly-excited, new parent touching might be pampering and overly-indulging Lyra, but then she reminded herself that Draco had, at one time, despaired that he'd never have a child of his own. Lyra was his blessing, proof the curse was finally broken, and so Hermione almost always conceded and allowed him his small indulgences. Besides, their child was growing so fast, and she knew that in another few years, she wouldn't want to be so frequently held or touched. Already, in fact, she asserted her independence, usually by flinging her wild, dark-brown curls over her small shoulders, staring up at them with bold, self-confident grey eyes and planting hands on her hips, reminding all of the grown-ups in the area that she was a big girl and could walk just fine on her own.

"Where did you find that?" he asked.

His evasive tone only made Hermione all the more curious. "In your old school trunk, near the bottom corner, under all of the books and notes." She nimbly shook it, not hearing anything inside rattle. "What's in it?"

Draco was silent for a few moments, so she tore her attention away from the new find and looked over at him, wondering at his sudden apprehensive features.

"Open it and you'll see," he nodded with his chin in the box's direction.

"Is it safe to do so with Lyra in the room?" she asked, concerned. Anything peculiar and enigmatic in the magical world usually had surprising repercussions for being disturbed, she well knew. The last time she'd opened something cagey, she'd gotten a face full of screaming note pages as the restricted book's trapped spirit let her know its displeasure at being disturbed. Harry had warned her about that particular tome, but her curiosity had gotten the better of her that one time.

Her mate nodded. "It's fine. Though you might think me… um, strange… after seeing it."

The thrill of the unknown gripped her. If there was one thing Hermione enjoyed, it was a good riddle to solve. Excitedly, she waddled to the bed, shifting her bulk to sit upon the mattress beside her husband, rubbing her distended abdomen to calm her child, who kicked in annoyance at her enthusiastic movements. "Your son is letting me know his displeasure with lunch, I think," she wryly grinned, putting the box down next to her.

Her husband reached out and lovingly stroked her belly, and instantly the little boy within her quelled his ruckus, as if sensing his father's gentle rebuke. Draco chuckled. "He's eager to come out and see us, I think," he teased. He turned to Lyra. "Would you like to meet your brother soon, baby? Just two more months to go!"

Their daughter yawned while simultaneously, haughtily shaking her head. "He can stay right where he is," she declared in a sleepy voice like the Princess she play-imagined herself to be. "Boys are icky." She sheepishly grinned at him, realizing her _faux pas_ immediately. "All except you, daddy."

Both parents laughed at their daughter's audacity. "That's right, sweetheart," Draco confirmed in a low, soothing voice, gathering his beloved child into his arms. She snuggled against his neck and closed her eyes, preparing for her afternoon nap. "Boys are icky, all except for me. Just remember that, okay?"

"Okay, daddy," she confirmed and promptly fell asleep.

Honestly, the girl could pass out anywhere and be dead to the world in seconds. It was an innate gift Hermione envied of her. She shook her head. "You spoil her too much," she whispered good-naturedly to her husband.

"I know," he mouthed back with a fresh grin that lit up his beautiful features. Smile creases lined the sides of his eyes, showing that age – and happiness – had finally caught up.

Turning her full attention back to the box, Hermione rubbed her hands together in anticipation and lifted the lid… and gasped. Inside was a snowy white handkerchief, stained dark red with splotches of blood. Her blood. Her virginity. With tears in her eyes, she looked up at Draco, astounded. "You kept it?" She looked at the memento of their first touches together that afternoon in their sixth year back at Hogwarts and felt her heart melt all over again. "Why?"

Scooting across the coverlet, adjusting Lyra in his arms, Draco came up beside her and cupped her cheek. "To remind me of how much you cared for me. It gave me some hope during a time when I had none of my own."

Twin trails of wetness streaked down her cheeks in both profound sadness and joy. "You hid it in this box, at the bottom of your trunk to keep it from You-Know-Who, didn't you?" They did not speak the Dark Lord's name in their house, especially with Lyra around. When she was older, they would eventually explain it all to her, but there were too many years between now and then to live without his memory to darken their doorstep.

Draco nodded. "I'd take it out and look at it sometimes when I was alone during that summer after sixth year, or in my dorm during seventh, when you were gone off in search of the… 'artifacts'." Horcruxes, he meant. Another word they would not speak of in their home, for those were dark magical spells. "It was my only connection to something good," he admitted, love shimmering in his arctic grey depths. In his tone, that confluence of two voices – his Veela and him – came together again as he spoke. "To you, my mate, although I didn't understand your ultimate importance to me at the time."

Her fingertip reached out and touched the fabric. It was stiff with age, but the magic of the bond that had existed between them even then, although neither knew it, was still present as a small tingle across her skin. "But you felt it somehow," she smiled, captured again by his gaze. "Your heart knew. Just like mine."

He nodded. "So, you don't think me odd for keeping it?"

Hermione shook her head. "It's the same reason I asked you for the Mirror of Erised." She looked over into the corner of their cottage bedroom, where they'd moved after getting together, leaving his London flat – and that part of his life – behind, and spied the mystical object that had forever changed their lives with one, simple vision. It was covered with a sheet to keep it from being used, but just its mere presence was strangely comforting. "It's a weird reminder of hope for a better future."

Draco leaned in and kissed her, his free hand traveling from her cheek to her rounded tummy again. "_Definitely_ a better future."

He left to put Lyra down in her bedroom, but quickly returned to make gentle love to her for the rest of the afternoon in their bed. Throughout it all, he caressed and nuzzled her abdomen, assuring she reached her pleasure twice before finding his own, cherishing her as only a true mate could.

In the afterglow, they held each other, and Hermione smiled in sincere satiation into his chest, pressing her cheek to Draco's strongly beating heart and lightly dozing. She marveled at the realization that she was no longer tortured by thoughts of their previously missed chances, of the ten years they'd lost or of the questions as to why. Now there was only contentment and happiness and love to fill the spaces of her mind and heart. There was a future to look forward to, and the past, as far as Hermione was concerned, was finally able to be laid to rest.

_**~FIN~**_

* * *

**AUTHOR'S FINAL NOTES****:**

**This concludes "**_**The Mirror Series: Forbidden Desire**_**." I hope you enjoyed this short journey with me. Look for the next installment of this on-going fic series to come in the near future, and be sure to read my first entry already posted for this challenge, "**_**The Mirror Series: That Which You Most Desire**_**."**

**Please review if you could! I'd love to know your thoughts!**


End file.
